


Speeding tickets

by Insecuriosity



Series: Longarm's pleasurehouse [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: (but it is actually a good thing and not shamed), AU - kind of ?, Blurr has money problems, Breeding, Brothels, Expensive brothel, Master/Pet, Multi, Other, Pet-play, Premature Ejaculation, Prostitution, Relationships are non-romantic - they show who clang, Roleplay, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Roleplay, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Voyeurism, twist - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3765187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insecuriosity/pseuds/Insecuriosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blurr is low on money, and agrees to take part in an extensive sexual role-playing world that is being hosted by Longarm's pleasurehouse. A world that involves race-frames playing the mechanimals, and other mecha betting on their races and breeding the best of the best to get the perfect offspring. </p><p>This fanfic was an excuse to write the breeding of sentient mecha without actually writing a world of non-con and awfulness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the Job interview

**Author's Note:**

> After about half a year of rotting away on my harddrive, I gave this little beasty a wax and polish and dumped it out here. 
> 
> This entire thing was an excuse to write a sexual fantasy without the whole thing being non-con and awful. That said, I hope you enjoyed it!

“Welcome, Blurr. My name is Longarm. Please take a seat.” The mech – Longarm – had a kind smile, and he gestured to the empty seat on the other side of his desk. 

Blurr nervously sat down, and Longarm sat back down into his own chair with a smile. The room was a neutral blue, and the only items on the desk were minor office items. Not at all what Blurr had been expecting to find in the most prestigious pleasurehouse in Iacon. 

“Well then, Blurr. You are quite a celebrity in the racing circuits. I've personally admired a few of your best achievements. What kind of job would you like here?” 

Blurr had to fight the urge to shift, and he fumbled with the poster he had had in his subspace for several decacycles. “I...I am looking for a one time job, and I heard that you take in bots of all proclivities and kinds and sorts and that you pay really well. As you've said I'm a decently known racer but the racing season is over for the coming megacycles and I want something to occupy my time with until the next season starts and I know you run races here- at least that's what I heard.”

Blurr fell silent and waited. His bank account numbers were frighteningly low, and he didn't like to admit that his shortage on money came from too many parties. The prize for winning first place seemed a lot more when he'd been dragged along with investors and contractors to celebrate. 

Across the desk, Longarm nodded slowly, and Blurr hoped that the mech had been able to keep up with his speed. “Ah, yes, we do hold races.” Longarm seemed hesitant, and he laced his fingers together. “What kind of contract are you hoping for? I'm afraid that I cannot offer you a position here if this is just a means for you to spend your time on a racetrack. ” 

“It's not at all something like that.” Blurr answered quickly, and he swallowed. “I-I know your establishment is famous for deep levels of i-interfacial roleplaying, and I have had actor training so I would like to know my options.” 

Longarm's optics didn't change, but the red orb on his forehead almost seemed to light up for a small moment. Blurr hoped that the mech wouldn't ask about his credit situation. He didn't think he would be able to keep his dignity telling a pleasurehouse runner about his inability to keep credits on his bank account. “Well, I think we can work something out in that case.” Longarm smiled. “Especially if you've had actor training.” 

“Yes, in the third tower.” Blurr said quickly. Really, that actor training had only been a two megacycle speed-course that he had taken out of curiosity and boredom. According to his sponsor back then, some snooty noble that liked to touch a little too much, acting came into use no matter what job you took. Blurr hated that the handsy mech was proven right. 

Longarm nodded, and made a quick note on his datapad. “That should be enough, and if not we can offer a short course. Now for the more serious talk. I'll need an up-to-date medical report on your frame to ensure you do not carry viruses, rust, infections or otherwise harmful things in your frame.” 

Blurr felt no trepidation in handing over the dataslug. As a professional racer he got more scans than any other bot, and ever since some swindler had started to produce performance-enhancing drugs that could be introduced through the interface hardware, the scans touched everything.  
Longarm took the dataslug. His optics dimmed slightly as he skimmed through the contents, and then he nodded. “Very good. I'll have to mention that we repeat these scans every cycle for customer and employee safety, but as a racer you are probably long used to scans.” Longarm smiled, and Blurr didn't say anything. “As you mentioned, we have a lot of different roles and activities for sale here. Are there any things that you will not do?” 

“No valve interfacing.” Blurr said immediately. He really hoped that Longarm wouldn't ask why. 

Longarm's smile dropped slightly, and he made a note on the datapad in front of him. “Hm...Well, your valve would have brought up quite a sum with you being as well known as you are, but I understand your trepidation. How are your thoughts on spiking?” Longarm asked a perfectly good question considering their setting, but Blurr felt shame rising I his tanks.

“I... I can't spike.” Longarm's optical ridges shot upwards with surprise, and Blurr shrank away in his seat.  
Longarm shuffled through his papers, and was downright frowning when he looked back up. “There is nothing on your file that indicates damaged or missing equipment...?” He said with a question in his voice. “Even if you faked these reports, there is no need. I assure you that we have patrons who prefer rare or damaged frames-” 

“No no, it's nothing like that.” Blurr said quickly. “I can't spike because I discharge within half a breem if not less - I try to hold out longer but that makes it so uncomfortable and I can't hold it back and then it ends up very awkward so I don't like to spike and I would rather just be here for the roleplaying and maybe-oral-pleasuring-because-this-is-an-interface-house-but-I-don't-want-to-taste-” 

“Blurr.” Blurr snapped his mouth shut, and tried to cool his embarrassment-heated frame. Longarm was not laughing, but Blurr was pretty sure that the owner of an extensive role-play house had just seen far more embarrassing things to keep a straight face in any situation. 

“Blurr, if I may be so bold, how quick is your recuperation after a spike overload?” Longarm asked.

Blurr hunched a little in his seat. “A breem or so. Usually less than a breem.” 

Longarm smiled, and searched through his desk. He pushed a thin datapad at Blurr. “I think I've found a role you might want to consider.” 

Blurr picked up the datapad, and let his optics raze over the surface.

It looked like the first page of a play. The words 'Speedster-breeders' were adorning the top, with a small headline proclaiming 'Setting and assumed roles for free improv. stageplay.'  
The list of roles was long, each with their own small description, and a list of acts that would come with the role if it was chosen. Longarm had marked one of the roles with a dark purple underline, and Blurr's optics were quickly drawn to it. 

The role in question was marked as 'Race breeder - Dominant'. 

According to the datapad, his role would be to act the part of a non-sentient creature and breed with the other actors on command and pairing of a customer's wishes. A rapid recuperation period on his spike and transfluid tank were listed as the most important features for the job, a large frametype listed second and optional.  
Blurr had never quite felt so discomforted by reading mere words, and he shifted back and forth on his seat as he read the text. His optics were glued to the estimated wage, high enough to make him consider it. 

“That's the role that would fit your frame best, and your celebrity status would lure a great amount of customers while not resulting in overly much interface.” Longarm sounded chipper, and Blurr put down the datapad on the desk. 

“I-... Do you have any other roles?” Blurr just had to ask. If there was a less.... interfacial role he could place for enough money, he would prefer it. 

“Of course.” Longarm said calmly, and he grabbed a new datapad from below the stack that sat on the edge of his desk. The jobs were far more mundane. Janitorial work, platonic tactile as a lap-mech, waiter in the open bar and working as an exotic dancer to lure customers inside. The wages included were not at all as high as Blurr had been expecting. 

Longarm was smiling when Blurr looked back up from the papers. “How come these, uh, roles, get less pay?” 

“Because every mech down on their luck prefers a job that doesn't involve them allowing anyone into their interface hardware.” Longarm answered. “We are not actively looking for more people to fill these roles, but they are an option for you.” 

Yes, the attraction value. Blurr frowned at the datapad. “If I'm providing free attraction, I should get more pay as well.” 

Longarm's optics narrowed as his smile grew. “Perhaps. Still, it is against the law to discriminate between employees that perform the same work.” 

The words -And it's you who needs the money, not me.- went unspoken between them. Blurr glared at the mech in front of him. 

“However, I can make a small exception if you choose to play the more exciting role of Race breeder.” Longarm was still smiling, and Blurr found he looked positively sly. 

“And you can rake in more credits with me in that role, isn't that right?.” Blurr said. 

“Completely on the mark. Of course, we will discuss a very generous rate for you if you decide to take this role.” 

Blurr stared at the mech on the other side of the desk, and rapped his foot against the floor as his thoughts shot through his processors.  
“Tell me a little more about this roleplay feature.” He said, almost forgetting to dim down on the commanding tone that he so easily adapted from his stature as a celebrity. Longarm, if he noticed it, made no comment. 

“We have been getting requests for long-term play. Customers usually like to enjoy immersing themselves in a world of sexual pleasures and dominance, and I have decided to give this concept a chance. Since sexual play in itself is not a cheap service, we decided to go with the idea of a large, interactive roleplay with a few set rules and an immersive background for mecha to lose themselves in. A mixture between a Conjunx Endura for hire and a prostibot.” 

“Some mechs have let me know that they would enjoy the prospect of breeding their favourite pets in a realistic manner. Actual breeding rooms, prepping the two 'mechanimals' for sparking, or simply gathering transfluid from the designated siring mechanimal.” Longarm chuckled. “Of course the main rule is that any and all other interface-related acts will happen in designated rooms away from the roleplaying setting. You can choose whether you want to take extra clients after the main performances, you can fill that in on the form.” 

“As you can imagine, long recuperation time and stamina would be very unhelpful if we plan to service customers. Both your prowess as a racer and your unique talent in the berth suit this scenario beautifully.” 

Blurr hesitated, and looked at the datapad on the desk. “I-.... I'm not sure yet...” 

“Don't worry Blurr.” Longarm said calmly. “Your preferences and 'no-go's' will be explicitly listed in your contract. Additionally, the clause right here states that you can back down from any activity you do not feel comfortably in performing. Of course this does retract from your pay at the end of the day.” 

Blurr nodded reluctantly, and Longarm smiled again. The mech handed him a datapad. “Our upcoming play is quite large. There should be at least one role you feel comfortable fulfilling for us. Please fill out this form, and we will determine your pay, rehearsal dates, safewords and temporary employee pass.”

Blurr took the list and scanned over the different 'goods' and their ridiculous price tag. The idea that there were bots out there willing to pay so much shanix for things like Axlegrinding had Blurr very happy with his own -rather tame- preferences. 

“Let me know in three cycles if you want to take the job. You can send me a commlink message if you have any questions about the listed activities or the more basic rules. They're all on the datapad.” Longarm smiled and stood up. Blurr immediately followed his example and shook the hand that Longarm had extended towards him. “I really hope I'll be welcoming you as an employee for our upcoming play.”

Blurr nodded reluctantly, and brought out his best, fake smile. “Thank you for your time.” He said simply.

Longarm smiled warmly, and the red circle on his forehead glowed in a trick of the overhead lamp. “I will be looking forward to seeing you again Blurr.”

Blurr made the effort of keeping his smile in place, and let Longarm escort him out of the office.


	2. The races

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a few days of struggling with his pride and bills, Blurr gives in. A few decacycles of rehearsing later, he arrives at Longarm's pleasurehouse to take part in the large performance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everybody, no smut yet. It'll definitely be there in chapter 3 tho.

Longarm's pleasurehouse was a broad building, and it cast a shadow befit of an office compartment. In Blurr's opinion it was far larger than a brothel had any right to be.  
The first time he had arrived for 'rehearsal', he'd barely been able to keep himself from twitching at every sound. Luckily, the other employees were not at all as he'd feared them to be. 

Prositbots were, well, promiscuous, and at some point, Blurr had linked promiscuity with 'being a complete aft'. He had been expecting a lot of leers and snide comments about his 'talent' in the berth, but there had only been a few snickers here or there. There were plenty of unique employees working there, so he did not stand out as much as he thought he did.

Blurr entered the building, and the secretary waved at him with a bright smile. Everywhere, people were preparing for the play, all the terminals proclaiming that usual business was postponed until tomorrow.  
Blurr headed to the courtyard. For the last few decacycles it had been outfitted from top to bottom with racing kibble. Easily manageable walls and brightly coloured floaters outlined the race-track, and a line of low cages were set at the startline. 

As he walked into the courtyard, Blurr could see someone doing some last-breem work on a drone that was touched up to resemble a petrorabbit. In turbofox races, the bait was meant to be the 'incentive' for the Turbofoxes to run and follow the correct track. Blurr pushed down the small stir of annoyance and shame that rose up in him. He'd chased the thing during rehearsal, and he'd chase it now.

He needed the money, and he his contract very explicitly stated that he did not allow for sensually tinted pictures. He had practised, he couldn't care less what people thought about him- …. He would be fine. Blurr exhaled. 

“Hey! Blurr, you're here!” A chipper voice broke him out of his thoughts, and an excited small mech bounced up to him. 

“Hello Bluestreak.” Blurr aimed a small smile at the small grey bot. The mech was only barely out of his younglinghood, and he'd taken a job at Longarm's for pretty much the same reasons Blurr had. 

“It's happening today Blurr, I'm so excited! I have been practising a lot and I know I will probably do fine but I'm still worried- don't you have that you're still worried?” 

Blurr was worried, sure, but not for the exact same reasons that Bluestreak was. He'd met the other actors that were going to take part in the roleplay, and of course- every single one of them had recognised him as the celebrity that had been winning all the competitions he entered.  
Fame didn't bother him, but disappointing his berth partners was not something he wanted to be known for. Regardless of every single one of the 'employees' swearing on their life never to make fun of him, Blurr knew how gossip worked. The news would be all over the place by the next cycle.

It was at moments like this that Blurr regretted not being able to do much moer than excel at racing. He should have lost his credits on download-skill lessons.

“Not really.” He lied smoothly to Bluestreak. “Both you and I practised at several occasions and I have complete confidence in our acting abilities, as should you.” 

Bluestreak nodded, but Blurr could tell that the mech was still nervous. “Yes, you are right, totally. I'm just so worried that I won't be able to improvise right, or that I just mess up something by saying something stupid to a customer because I can't see that he's not a customer or something- But I shouldn't think that way and Longarm said that I did really well and that he's considering a long-term contract for me in one of the other role-playing positions-” 

Bluestreak was impossible to stop once he got going, and Blurr had no intention to break the rambling bot out of his story. Both bots headed towards their position, and Blurr could see the carrier-actors preparing for the role on the opposite end of the courtyard. His own residence was in a trailer. Longarm had spared no expense in making the whole thing seem as real as possible, and Blurr snorted in annoyance.

The trailer was too low to stand in, but it allowed for a crouch, and to make everything more 'realistic', it had been filled with a layer of metal curls. A few dirty tarps were laying in one corner, and an energon feeder for mechanimals hung suspended in the back.  
Blurr felt a little shaky with his usual pre-race stress as Bluestreak handed him his vocal inhibitor collar and clicked it around his throat. 

“Commlinks still working?” Bluestreak asked. 

::If you receive this, then yes:: Blurr answered easily. Bluestreak nodded, and he looked tenser than Blurr had ever seen him.

Blurr crawled into the trailer on hands and knees, and allowed Bluestreak to tether him to the inside of the trailer with a chain. Bluestreak's hands were shaking, and the small bot's plating was jittering nervously. 

“Only a few more joor- oh Primus... this is so scary- I hate being in the spotlight-...” Bluestreak whispered. 

Blurr flared his plating. ::Stop that, take it from someone who knows. Worrying about it doesn't make it any better.:: 

“Sorry, sorry-” Bluestreak took out his notepad again, and skimmed through his notes at a strutbreaking speed. “Stay in character, visualise, be courteous and friendly, don't forget the accent, check commlinks, look out, listen right, never look sideways- no wait, that can't be right-” 

The speakers above the courtyard crackled to life, and Longarm's calm voice echoed over the grounds. “To all employee's and early customers, the show will begin in five breems. Please take your place as soon as possible!” 

Bluestreak squeaked, and he started to close the trailer. “I- I'll see you in a bit- just- call when you need anything and goodluck!” The doors to the trailer closed, and Blurr was kept shrouded in the gloomy darkness of dimmed sunlight.  
He drew a calm invent, and then blew out a long exvent. It was nothing he hadn't done before. He had raced at real, professional races, he could race at a role-play race. Except those races hadn't included publicly mounting his opponents afterwards.

Blurr tried to swallow his anxiety. Despite his best efforts, meeting his fellow actors had not completely dispelled his worries. When he had shared his fears to Rodimus, one of the prostibots, the mech had flippantly stated that 'he enjoyed anything' and that he'd get off to 'even the worst performance on Cybertron'. Which was not at all a very comforting prospect. 

The other actors knew that he had been chosen for this role because he could spill his load in a few kliks, but no matter how many times it was called a talent, Blurr had trouble seeing it as such. 

Blurr took another invent. He needed the credits, and it was a one-time job. He had checked the contract thoroughly, and it had explicitly stated that no image captures were allowed during play – to protect both employees and customers. Not to mention, if he won this farce of a race, he could cash the winnings for some extra credits. 

Outside of the trailer, the noises changed. From the clatter and clutter of mechs hurrying to their stations and fixing a last minute prop to the mumbling hum of an audience starting to form. 

Blurr sat up on his haunches, and tried to peer through the small, half-opaque window on his trailer. The matted material only showed vague shapes, but he could see the tribunes slowly filling up. Someone had started playing sporty music on the speaker system. Blurr swore he had heard this particular song at every single race he had partaken in.  
Longarm had made betting an option. With professional races, betting was only done under the table, and mechanimal races themselves were as prohibited as syk-spiked party-grade. Blurr could appreciate Longarm's gesture. Under the ruse of play, gambling was perfectly legal, and if some funds happened to REALLY change hands, there was nobody paying enough attention to call the Enforcers. Longarm had spotted a true gap in the market for more than one group. 

Blurr went over to the nibble-drip dispenser in the trailer, and topped off his systems. Pretend race or not, he wanted to win.  
He stretched his arms in front of him, and let all the joints and cables move, warming them up for top speed. He dug bits of filth from the grooves in his tires, and he let his engine spin up until his entire frame was purring with heat and anticipation. 

By the time Bluestreak opened the doors to his trailer and grabbed the chain, the tribunes were filled with mechs, and Blurr's plating was flared open wide to vent off excess heat.  
The other racers were already being herded into their starting blocks, engines purring and wheels digging into the dirt for traction. Blurr didn't pay attention to anything except the track in front of him, transforming into his alt before Bluestreak could try and make it into a command. 

The announcers for races always managed to sound the same, and Blurr's systems filtered the mechanically enhanced voices out perfectly, leaving only a tight focus completely centered on winning.  
Blurr rolled into his designated starting cage and waited, the usual loud cheers a roar in the makeshift stadium. 

There was a shot, the brackets before his cage fell away, and Blurr was off- his wheels clawing into the ground and sending him shooting down the track. The sound from his co-racers was coming from closely behind him, and Blurr pumped more power into his engines his tires manipulating the track as if it was made just for him. 

One turn, two turns, three turns – Blurr shot past the start line. Someone had removed the starting blocks, and more engines soared behind him. The cheer of the crowd was fierce and wild, and Blurr drove himself harder. The air around his exhaust was cooking with heat, and his wheels sprayed dirt and rocks at the competition following in his tracks. 

Blurr followed the sleek curve of the racing track, smooth as a well oiled piston, and shot over the line for a second time. Only the third round was left, and he would have won this race. 

Someone tried to pass him, the nose of their alt almost reaching his front most wheels- and then Blurr shot over the finish line, tail-spinning to a stop. First-place. 

Bluestreak was there almost immediately, and Blurr would have stood up to do his usual victory pose if it hadn't been for the grey minibot clicking a chain to his collar. Right. Not a real race, just an act. Blurr panted, and Bluestreak patted his flared plating with a few long-rehearsed words to calm him. Blurr's frame was shaking, and with the race over, his frame was dispelling all his warmth. 

Bluestreak led him back into the trailer, Blurr curled up in the mesh tarps in the back. Outside, he could hear enthusiastic mecha talk to Bluestreak and making offers to purchase him. Even knowing that it was all a game, an act, it was very calming to hear Bluestreak stoically denying each offer.  
Blurr's frame began to spun down from its racing high, leaving a remnant of charge in his systems. His plating stopped trying to dispel his warmth, and instead Blurr became a content pile of racer. 

If it had been a professional race, there would have been a femme massaging his protoform right about now, with his personal coach feeding him sips of carefully flavoured coolant. 

Blurr's protoform was aching a little from strain, but there was nobody coming to massage him, and there wouldn't be any massages or flavoured coolant if he didn't pay his bills soon. Blurr stretched, and felt a few dislocated cables slip back into the right place of their own accord. 

::Blurr, are you alright?: Bluestreak commed him.

::Yea, I told you, I get somewhat 'out of it' when I race:: He replied. 

::Need anything?::

Blurr snorted from inside the trailer. ::It would be nice if you could procure all the credits I need to pay my bills so I can quit this job right here and now. Oh, and a protoform massage would be nice. With copper flavoured coolant.:: 

::Right.:: Bluestreak chuckled back. ::I'll get you out when the next race starts:: 

Well, it'd been worth a shot. Blurr paced inside of the trailer, and awaited the next race. A few mecha pressed their faces against the matted glass to see him. The announcer was calling out the winners and giving a short review of the race. Blurr exvented a hot breath and flared his plating. 

Anxiety was growing in his frame. Racing he could do. It still gave him jitters right before he stood in the starting blocks, but he believed in himself. He was fast, well built, meant to win.  
The thing that was making it hard to relax and focus on the next race, was the fact that the part of the play where he was supposed to interface in public was rapidly coming closer. 

It didn't take long before Bluestreak opened the trailer again, and Blurr was set in the starting bracket for his second race. The uneasy shaking in his legs had nothing to do with the fear of losing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this. Probably more than is healthy.... Hm. Better keep on doing it! See you tomorrow for chapter 3 and the smuts. Leave a comment if you feel like it, I really appreciate them :)


	3. The Breeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to the part of the story that probably everyone wanted to see.

The races were over. Blurr had lost only a single match, and it had been the last one. He blamed Rodimus. The mech was one of Longarm's long-term employees, and his small pre-race comment had come in far harder than Blurr liked to admit. 

“You just as fast in berth, speedy?” 

Blurr crawled over to the thermal blanket, folded his arms under his head and settled himself in and readied himself for the joors ahead. He'd done that weird advertisement thing where he'd had to walk around in his protoform- he could do this too. 

Bluestreak pinged him, and Blurr exvented.

::You okay Blurr?:: 

::I'm fine.:: If there was anything Blurr hated, it was admitting that he was flustered. He was a star, and he was going to take this entire thing in stride. As a celebrity. 

Blurr shook himself and forced his hot plating to flare and relax. He had interfaced before with people he barely knew. Groupies and such, though admittedly that had been after consuming a processor numbing amount of high-grade.   
If it wasn't for the fact that his entire role was to finish as quickly as possible, Blurr would have been out of the trailer in seconds. Still, the bills didn't pay themselves, and this was the only job paying well enough with the least amount of effort. 

Suddenly someone knocked their hand against the trailer, and Blurr almost put a dent in his helm when he jolted upward. There were a bunch of mecha gathered outside of his trailer, and Blurr hid himself in the back, the chain on his collar pulling taut. He had practised the pet routines more than he liked to think of. 

“So he is up for rent?” Someone said. A customer probably.

“Yep.” That was the Bluestreak. “He has great CNA as you all saw, but he was mostly an accidental breed. I was going for a nice showroom model, but Blitz and Panter actually had some regressive racing genes that created little Snapper in here.” Bluestreak talked with a ridiculous Tarnian accent, and he had the tiniest slur in his words. He didn't sound nervous, and Blurr was momentarily annoyed with him. It would have been a little comforting to know that he wasn't the only mech shaking in his armour like a sparkling. 

The clasps on the trailer were being undone, and Blurr's spark whirled in anxiety. He allowed a sound to come from his vocaliser, as he quickly rehearsed the role he had to play. He hurriedly opened his interface covers, and tried to shake his anxious plating loose from his protoform. He was the breeder, the topper, a dominant, playing a role for a bunch of voyeuristic weirdo's-.... 

“Snapper's got a 16 out of 19 win ratio, and that while he's just barely of breeding age! I plan to sell 'im soon, races are not reliable enough to get my income from.” Bluestreak continued with his ridiculous accent, and Blurr received a ping.

::Opening the door in five kliks.:: 

Outside, a different mecha made a sound of agreement. “Oh, I know what you mean. Racing is a sport, and to do it right you need more time and creds than any common mech could afford.” 

Bluestreak hummed in agreement, and the trailer doors opened. Blurr shifted in the metal curls around his pedes. The light from outside had his optics recalibrating, and he let himself flinch away slightly. As soon as he could see again he was met with the appraising optics of at least five different mecha, all focused intently on his frame.  
Blurr resisted the instinct to strike a pose – his agent had pretty much trained him to look charming as soon as something resembling a camera pointed his way.

A jet with a gold-like finish let out an appreciative whistle. “You weren't joking when you said you bred for the showroom!” He said, and the others nodded in agreement. Blurr wanted to roll his optics, but instead he just made a low growl. Sure, platonic petting was allowed according to contract, but Blurr was going to make sure that he discouraged anyone who wanted to try. It had also been the inspiration for his stage name, Snapper. Bluestreak smiled and unhooked Blurr's chain, giving it a slight pull. 

“C'mon Snapper. It's all good. Come on out.” He said, and he pulled at the chain again. “He tends ta get a little snappish and sullen after a race. Probably cause I haven't fed him his goodies yet, but you're gonna get a whole different treat today Snapper, yes you are!” 

One of the mechs in the little audience couldn't control his cooling fans. Someone else murmured; “Oh, definitely...” 

Bluestreak chittered some more happy encouragements into the trailer, and Blurr crawled to the exit. Bluestreak petted him on the back of his head and scratched over the armour near his audials. Blurr swore that he could physically feel the gazes on his open interface equipment. !

“Yes, that's a good racer, good Snapper...” Bluestreak crooned, and Blurr leaned into his scratches like they had practised. “When at top-speed, Snapper can keep up to a flyer given he's running on even terrain. He has great traction as well, I've never had him slip in a tight turn.” Blurr's plating flexed a little with pride. Both statements were true, even though the flyer he had raced hadn't been that much of a speedster. The attending group of mechs all made appreciative noises, and their optics roved over Blurr's frame. 

The golden jet even dared to carress him with a long stroke from his neck to his lower back, and Blurr snapped at his hand. The mech startled, and the onlookers chuckled. Bluestreak grinned too. “His name aint a joke, it's fitting, so watch yer hands.”

“Not to be a spoilsport, but time's ticking.” A slightly grumpy green mech said. Blurr could sense the heat coming off his frame. “Let's get the breeding done quickly so we can all take our carrying racers back to their pens.”

Bluestreak stood up and pulled at the leash. Blurr let himself drop out of the trailer, and balanced on his hands and the tips of his pedes. It'd taken such a long time before he'd managed it without looking like a sparkling imitating a Dynobot.

The tribunes around the track were mostly empty, and a few employees were cleaning the mess. Judging by the amount of tinted windows that shone with sensual light, quite a few spectators had decided to stay for a different entertainment.

The other racers were in a cleaned storage room that Longarm had decorated to look like a series of pens, and the scent of lubricant was obscene in the air. Artificial, most likely. It had never smelled so strong during rehearsal. Blurr cleaned out his vents with a loud sneeze.   
Just as in the trailer, the floor was littered with metal curls, and Blurr could see the other racers lying in messy impromptu nests. Blurr couldn't help but heat up a little as one of the actors laid on his back and splayed his legs wide open with a sensual rev of his engine. 

Rodimus was in one of the first pens, drinking energon from his feeder with his aft in the air and valve exposed. Someone- probably a customer- was standing next to his pen, running a hand in between Rodimus' legs. 

“Someone's excited...” One of the customers laughed, and it took a moment before Blurr realised that they were referring to him. He hadn't even noticed his spike extending, and he resisted the urge to cover himself. He had a role to play, and he'd be damned if he was going to mess it up! Blurr straightened, and took a few exaggerated sniffs, before pulling his chain taut in an attempt to get at the racers still held in their pens. 

Bluestreak let out a rehearsed laugh. “Yes, Snapper, that's yours, yes! Good boy!” Blurr almost laughed at Bluestreak's overly zealous accent, but he turned it into an impatient growl, and pulled harder at his leash.

Bluestreak braced himself to keep Blurr back, and Rodimus was happily playing along with the game, mewling as if he was in heat.   
“Looks like he's already got a preference... is this any trouble?” Bluestreak said to the golden jet. “If you want Blurr to mount one of the others we can just take Hot Rod away until he's done with them.” 

“No no, Hot Rod should pair very nicely with him. Orange and Blue are complementary, so if their offspring works out the end product will be very risque and unique. I'm hoping for blue plating and orange accents – with Blurr's frametype.” The jet mech said. His optics were burning a little brighter than was normal, and he was looking back and forth between Rodimus and Blurr. 

Blurr yanked a little harder at the chain around his collar, thought it wasn't with too much gusto. His spike was starting to ache, being unused to standing proud without attention for so long, but he knew that the interfacing itself would only take a breem. 

In his pen, Rodimus grinned at him, and in the pen next to him a white praxian with a sport alt mode flicked his doorwings in a teasing manner even as he rolled his back to Blurr. Blurr managed to convey a whine, and tried to feel a little accomplished when the customers laughed. 

“Oh he's ready for it! I'll prep Roddy for him. Make sure you keep a good hold on that leash, Bluestreak, I don't want to get mauled if he pounces.” One of the employees walked over to Rodimus' pen, and grabbed the red-orange speedster by his collar.   
Rodimus made a excited yelp, and then growled in faux annoyance when the mech snapped his collar to a short chain on the wall. Rodimus tried to fall back into the metal curls, but the chain pulled on his collar, and the speedster settled in a restless position on hands and pedes. His aft and valve were left up on display, and Bluestreak was slowly leading Blurr to settle behind Rodimus. 

This was really happening. Blurr felt his legs trembling as if he was about to enter a race again, and if his spike wasn't so easily aroused it would have been a problem keeping it up. It'd been ages since he'd last tried to interface this way. The few times he'd tried had always been glorious- the slide, the tightness- but the aftermath had always been bad. Always that moment where a partner stared up at him, optics asking … “was that it?” 

Blurr pulled a little at the chain on his neck. This was no moment to back out. As his agent always liked to say; Shame isn't something someone else can make you feel, only yourself.  
Of course, easier said than done, but Blurr had been hired to overload quickly, and the ones he had to face were all people he'd gotten to know over the days of the rehearsal - 

He was going to do this. And he would do it with flair! Blurr pulled a little harder at the chain around his neck.

“Easy now Snapper, easy...” Bluestreak was inching him towards Rodimus, slowly giving more and more leeway with the chain. Blurr was quite grateful that the grey mech was keeping a short leash, because if there hadn't been a chain he probably would have broken a strut in his hurry to get it all over with. 

Rodimus was making annoyed whining noises, and he wiggled his aft in the air. Blurr could smell his lubricants so close up – scented with refined oil – and he lifted his hands off the ground to mount. 

The customers watched in silence, optics attentive and wide. The other breeders were watching too, though most of them tried to play it off by grooming themselves or simply pretending to be asleep.   
The chain was still holding him back, and Blurr pulled at it. It was time to get this over with – hurry hurry- 

The chain loosened again, and this time Blurr could fold his body over Rodimus' backside. The tip of his spike was poking at Rodimus' entrance, and Blurr awkwardly tried to angle for the point of access, spike slipping over and in between the folds. He ached to use his hands, to grab his spike and jack in, but he only whined and tried to drag Rodimus closer by his hips.  
Rodimus trilled and shifted, and Blurr's next attempt at penetration was met with success. Rodimus' well-lubricated calipers parted for his spike and Blurr sunk in – the chain around his neck going slack. 

Blurr focused completely around the hot wetness around his spike, and his spike was already pinging him with permission for discharge. Blurr made a short rut against Rodimus, and paused, resting his head in between Rodimus' shoulderblades.   
Not yet. Not THIS fast. He bit at a cable in Rodimus' neck, and tried to win time for his spike to calm down. Rodimus' valve actually squeezed around him, and Blurr couldn't stop his hips from jerking into another thrust. He just had to focus- try to hold back just a little longer...  
Rodimus squirmed, and Blurr gave up. It was as if someone had flicked a switch, and Blurr couldn't have stopped his hips from their frantic thrusts even if he'd tried. 

The overload that hit him only a few kliks later was a hot tingle that had him squeezing his optics shut and chewing at the neck cables in between his denta. The hot burn of arousal flared and grew brighter in between his legs even as the pleasure ebbed. Blurr panted. It'd been so long since he'd gotten a spike overload, he'd almost forgotten how good it felt. Ever since his last partner had gotten enough of his '1 minute fragtime, 1 minute recuperation' endurance, his spike hadn't seen much action.   
There had been the occasional party-goer who had tried his luck to bed him, but Blurr always ended up in a corner of the berth undergoing the 'glare of incredulity' together with the worst 'well-meant' comments ever conceived by Cybertronian kind. 

Those memories were only a vague impression in the haze of his post overload. Blurr softly ground his pelvic plating against Rodimus' aft, lingering in the wonderful warmth around him and panting against Rodimus' neckcables.

Something tugged at his neck, and Blurr was startled back to reality. Bluestreak was trying to pull him off Rodimus by his collar, and Blurr quickly let go of Rodimus' neck. A hand petted quickly over his helm. “Yea, that's it! Good boy Snapper.” 

Bluestreak pulled him back, and Blurr sat dazedly crouched at their feet. He refused to look at the group of customers. At least he couldn't hear them laugh. 

“Probably a good idea to let them do it a few more times, make sure they spark.” Bluestreak said. 

“Yes.” The green mech replied, and his voice was heavy with static. Blurr dared a glance, and found that none of the customers were staring at him with the expected mockery.   
Blurr was confused for a moment, before he saw what had caught their attention so thoroughly. Rodimus was making a long sound that was a mix between a whine and a moan, pulling restlessly at his chain and flaring his plating almost obscenely.

The customers looked pleased, and Rodimus' 'owner' was reaching into the box, undoing the chain on Rodimus' neck. Immediately, the orange speedster dropped his weight into the metal curls, and started writhing and squirming like a cyberfox in heat. The green mech that had apparently bought 'owner' right for Rodimus tried to pet him, and Rodimus squirmed more. 

Rodimus' owner shook his head with a hungty smile. “Oh yea, that looks hot. C'mon Hot Rod, get on your back.” The mech clacked his glossa in what Blurr assumed to be a command, and Rodimus flipped on his back, nonchalantly showing off the fluids dripping from his valve.

Blurr's view of Rodimus' open valve was suddenly obstructed by Bluestreak, who had kneeled next to him and was holding a handful of energon goodies in front of his mouth. His other hand came down on Blurr's helm, the leash tangled in between his fingers. 

“Good Snapper, good boy! Yes, you did that very well~!” He crooned, simultaniously sending a comlink message. 

::That looked really good! I mean, not just sexy, but very well-acted too, you were totally convincing and I couldn't even tell you were nervous!:: 

Blurr narrowed his optics. ::That's because I wasn't.:: He said, picking a goodie from Bluestreak's palm. eating the goodies out of the mech's hand so he couldn't linger on the cold air around his spike and the hand petting his head and neck. 

“I'd like to have Snapper mounting my Cloudwing.” One of the customers remarked. Blurr found that he sounded almost too excited at the prospect, but he kept up his act. Bluestreak was lightly pulling at the leash again, this time towards the pen next to Rodimus'. “C'mon Snapper, time for the next one, come on, over here...” He moved to the box next to Rodimus, where one of the customers was hand-feeding the mecha inside with a gel-treat. 

The mounting was easier this time, and the warm embrace of the white Praxian's valve was just as glorious as Rodimus had been. Blurr's frame was starting to get really hot by the time he finished inside the Praxian, even as the overload drained away a part of his charge. 

Blurr couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten so far as to have three consecutive overloads in a short period. Most of his partners had cut him off after the second overload.

After the fourth mount, Blurr felt as if he was trembling on the edge of an overload, even as the last bits of pleasure from the last climax faded away, and he still hadn't heard anyone laugh.   
Hot and cold, alternating on his spike as he switched partners, and Blurr lost his focus on the rest of the room. It was no longer important, all that mattered was the delicious building of charge.

By the time he was done with the last racer, Blurr felt he could melt to the floor right then and there. His optics were dim, and his denta ached a little from where he'd bitten into shoulder armour, doorwings or cabling. His spike was still out of the housing, but it was not aching anymore.   
The customers left, right as Bluestreak started pretending to put Blurr back into his trailer. Blurr just indulged in the slow rolling shocks of his many overloads that were still shuddering through him. 

“Whoa. That was really something.” Bluestreak stage-whispered as they walked towards the staff room. “I don't think I ever even heard of someone doing it that many times in a row. ” 

Blurr tried for an answer, but the vocal-inhibitor collar turned it into a mewl. Bluestreak quickly took it off, and handed Blurr a soft mesh towel. Blurr took it, and dropped into one of the chairs. He could hear the showers running, and he decided to rinse himself off as soon as he wanted to get up from the chair.

“You look beat. Are you okay?” Bluestreak asked. He had sat down in a chair as well, and was busy taking off his props.

“It all went a lot better than I expected.” Blurr answered. He wiped the towel over his frame, and finally clicked his interface panelling shut “Nobody laughed.” 

Bluestreak shrugged. “I might have dropped a few rumours here and there that you were having trouble adjusting to the role. I didn't want to tell in case people knew I was blowing out my exhaust.” 

Blurr stared at Bluestreak incredulously. Bluestreak shifted nervously and playing with the leash he had unclipped from Blurr.

“It started by accident when I was talking to Rodimus about how the first rehearsal wasn't really a success, and then people just started assuming that they meant the interfacing-part and not the actual part of playing a pet. And everyone was saying they were jealous of me because you were hot and I just didn't tell them it wasn't like that.” Bluestreak gave Blurr an uneasy grin. “I... I hope that was okay?”

Blurr offlined his optics, and relaxed against the fabric of the chair. “Yes, Bluestreak. It's okay.”   
He pinged Longarm, and a few breems later, the overview of his paycheck rolled into his inbox. Blurr managed a small smile as the negative numbers rose above zero, and finally to a very nice balance that would let him tide over until the next race tournaments started. 

For all that he'd feared, it had not gone so badly at all. Blurr let the post-overload haze take over, and he sank into recharge to the sound of Bluestreak's chattering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more I look at this story, the more I think; "What the crap was I thinking when I wrote this."   
> One more (short) chapter to go after this. I hope it'll be a surprise :>


	4. the Twist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whaaat a twist? How could this beee.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter; forced drug use, forced pregnancy, Shockwave being a cunt. Knock-Out's there too. Enjoy!

After the last customers had left, Longarm left his office. He headed down, to the basement of the building, and followed a long set of hallways to a locked door. The room behind it was barely used, and off limits to anyone but Longarm and a few select... employees. 

Longarm entered his personal passcode, and walked in. There were crates stacked up in the dark, and a flickering lightbulb shone light on the scene. Knock-Out was at the terminal, humming a disjointed tune under his breath. Behind him on the floor were five mecha, neatly tied, and staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“Knock Out.” Longarm said. “How did it go?” 

The red medic made a startled little jump, and chuckled uneasily when he saw Longarm standing behind him. “I'm sorry Shockwave – I find it rather difficult to get used to your alter ego.” Knock-Out turned away from the terminal, and gestured to the prone mecha on the ground. “All five were successfully sparked. The scanners pick up no sign of mal-formation or incompatible parts, and the general prospect is really promising!”

Shockwave looked down at the mechs on the ground, and one of them stared blearily up at him, optics still fogged from the chemical cocktail pumped into his frame.  
“Have you contacted Swindle?” Shockwave asked, and Knock Out shook his head.

“Not yet, I was still running CNA scans. I just finished, and it turned out you were right! All of them were sparked by Blurr. Want me to sign their documents?” Knock-Out chuckled. 

Shockwave shook his head, and nudged a foot against one of the racers on the ground. “No, that's quite alright. The CNA test should be enough proof for our customers, and with your reputation I think it's best that our customers do NOT know which medic conducted the tests.”

Knock-Out's grin fell, and he narrowed his red optics at Longarm. “I'll have you know that I've operated on some very influential mecha.” He said. 

“Of course.” Longarm allowed. He did not feel like beginning a fruitless discussion with the red medic. 

One of the mecha on the floor moaned, and arched his back, a tiny bit of energon foam forming in the corner of his mouth. Shockwave watched as the mech kicked his legs and dripped transfluid from his valve. 

Longarm smiled. Things could not have gone any better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone got suggestions for tags? I'm all ears!

**Author's Note:**

> The second chapter will most likely have the pornies, and if not the second chapter, it will be the third. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
